


Seeds

by SalamanderInk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Mpreg, Anal Beads, Bondage, Dubious Consentacles, Edgeplay, First Time Bottoming, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, Herbologist Neville Longbottom, Incompetent coworkers, Magical Plant, Magical Pregnancy, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Nonverbal Communication, Other, Overstimulation, Plant sex, Plants, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Hogwarts, Praise Kink, Sentient Plants, Size Difference, Subspace, Tentacle Sex, monster cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/pseuds/SalamanderInk
Summary: Neville had always felt more kinship with plants than people.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Plant
Comments: 13
Kudos: 215





	Seeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuietCanadian9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietCanadian9/gifts), [Wolfloner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfloner/gifts).



> So this was for the Hp from FI server character challenge!  
> I got the Character Neville Longbottom, obviously, for the 'accidental mpreg' prompt...  
> And really, I could not resist writing plant smut.  
> Enjoy!

Everyone knew that Neville was the most knowledgeable herbologist of Europe. His speciality in the rare and obscure genus was legendary, and his empathetic manner of communing with the more aware and quarrelsome of the magical strains made him acknowledged worldwide as the person to call when most specialists had long given up. 

Neville knew that, was even rather proud of that reputation. It was the result of a lot of hard work and dedication, and he felt gratified to have his talents acknowledged in his own area of expertise, to have his works be studied by herbalist apprentices worldwide, to have his methods and his philosophy referenced as groundbreaking. 

Neville wasn’t a tiny boy cowering from his gran’s judgement any longer. He did not live in the shadows cast by his parents, did not wonder at who he should be, how he should act. 

He had the self assurance of a man who had accomplished himself, one who knew his own worth and trusted his skills. 

And yet, on this day, he found himself absolutely, impossibly  _ stumped.  _

He had been called as a last resort by a colleague in Ravensdale, an old friend from his apprenticeship days that looked much more harried than he usually did. And, considering that Neville has never seen him without a magic count on his eyes and less than three cups of caffeine-brew in him, that was quite the feat.

Consus Neophytos had always been a thrill seeker. Not a terribly bad trait for an herbologist, mind. Dealing with magical plants was just as hazardous as magizoology, if not moreso for the unwary. 

But Consus was on a whole new level entirely. He wished to travel the world and compile every magical strain and make a compendium of them. Perhaps become the Scamander of Herbology. 

That was the reason he’d gone far and wide looking for the most troublesome places, seeking rumors of strange happenings, going through the places with the most dense vegetation, prime forests and old secluded corners of remote countries. How that had landed him in Ravensdale, Neville could not quite tell, but it was rather likely that the place had a  _ reputation,  _ and that rather than simply letting the locals deal with their backyard sentient vegetation, he’d decided to butt in and anger them  _ both.  _

Truth be told, while Neville did not really enjoy criticising his colleagues, he couldn’t help but think that Consus could really do with learning a little patience and taking the time and care to  _ listen.  _

But that was neither here nor there, and not for the first time, he’d found himself called down to a remote town full of hostile locals and a ticked off magical breed of plant, with the not inconsiderable mission to clean up his colleague’s mess,  _ again.  _

At this rate,  _ he _ would be the one to write that bloody compendium. He had actually started, after all, since he’d already been called to ‘handle’ most of those previous mishaps, and at this point, he  _ did  _ have enough material to make quite a hefty and valuable book. 

Though, he supposed even having traveled that much and encountered that many different genuses had not prepared him for  _ everything.  _

The plant he was looking at made no logical sense, but then it was hard to draw any clear conclusions when the plant you were looking at was doing its utmost best to skewer you. 

It certainly looked tree-like, but then the lianas currently snapping at them both were most certainly an integral part of it instead of simply a parasitic plant, or even an epiphyte organism. 

Neville wondered what Consus had done to make it so very  _ murderous.  _

He chanced a glance at his still excited colleague. He kept on harping about classifications, and the nature of this new find, gesturing excitedly as though said ‘new genus’ had not decided that it wanted to eat whipped herbologist for breakfast. 

But then. It did not feel as though it was  _ hunting them,  _ so much as defending. Or perhaps, avenging?  _ What _ had Consus  _ done? _

“And obviously it’s perennial, have you seen how  _ big _ it is? So one could expect some fruits at least, but I haven’t seen any so far, and no flowers either. Could you have guessed it? A wood-type that’s not a spermatophyte? There was even a sign of budding! So, I took a cutting of the outgrowth, but it didn’t survive. It was probably still in a stage of symbiotic growth, then-”

Neville cut him off. 

“You did  _ what?” _

Consus blinked, surprised at the anger in Neville’s voice, in sharp contrast with his usually genial disposition. 

As it was, Neville felt anything but  _ genial.  _ In fact, he felt very much like throttling the moron. 

“Get out.”

His voice was cutting, as harsh as the gravelly path they’d trod on their way there, as deadly as the time he’d wielded a founder’s sword and cut off the head of a snake. 

“Get out of here, and hand in your herbology license to the Guild Master on your way back. I’ll know if you don’t and I’ll be sure to  _ make you.  _ Believe me, you don’t want that.”

Consus turned white, his pale countenance turning even greener. Neville thought uncharitably that this would be the closest he would ever come to understand chlorophyll based life-forms. 

At least he had the sense to scurry away once he figured that Neville was deadly serious, and perhaps that showed he was not an entirely hopeless moron. 

But then, Neville turned back to the gigantic liana-tree being, and the way it settled down after the idiot had left, limbs drooping as though in mourning, and he knew he would not forgive his former colleague. 

It was one thing to take a cutting or even a bud from a mundane plant, but when one dealt with magical beings, even vegetal ones, there was always a bit too much sentience to simply forget to consider their feelings, or their consent. 

He raised his hands placatingly, letting his magic spread around him in a show of faith and intent, talking with soothing whispers to the being and approaching slowly, watching for any recoil or flinch. He had never been able to stand any vegetal-creature being hurt or otherwise upset, and he could tell this one was both. It also appeared to be much more complex than what he’d been used to. 

It had certainly been able to understand that Neville had been the one to drive of Consus, after all. 

“Please let me help. Anything I can do, I will, if you just show me how I can help.”

The plant shivered, lianas parting just enough to leave an opening for Neville to step within its canopy. 

Neville walked in, with sure but careful steps, his hands raised before himself as a way to show his sincerity. He was unarmed, he was in peace, he was willing to help. 

He stepped through. 

The vines shivered closed behind him, leaving him entirely surrounded by the vegetal being. But Neville was not worried, he never was when in the company of plants. Even when they were like this one, thrice his size and strong enough to break him like a twig, or when they’d previously shown hostile or even murderous intent toward Wizardkind. 

After all, Neville had always felt more kinship with creatures from the Plantae Kingdom than from any human he’d ever interacted with. His fellow apprentices used to tell him he had sap in his veins instead of blood, and his Hogwarts schoolmates mostly tended to forget his existence until they had need of him. 

His home had always been in greenhouses and gardens, his true friends made of curling vines and rough barks, feather soft leaves and poisoned thorns. 

And here, now, in the centermost heart of this giant botanical wonder, encircled by a close-knit tapestry of lianae and vines, entirely trapped at his mercy, Neville felt safe. 

He spread his arms slowly in offering, helpfully making room for the loose vines gently grabbing hold of them, grateful for the care shown to his fragile human flesh. 

Slowly, they made their way over his limbs, methodically trussing him up and cradling them in their unyielding hold, before lifting him off the ground, carrying him up, higher and higher until he reached the lower branches of the huge trunk. 

It was beautiful. 

Small leaves were growing in clusters, their furled cone-like shapes almost glowing in the dim lighting, a deep orange shine that felt more than vibrant with life and energy. On their rim, and on their inner part, strange beads of luminescent liquid seemed to seep from its skin, golden dew growing on the porous lamina before rolling down to pool at the bottom of its funnel-like shape. Three of these leafy cups filled before Neville’s fascinated eyes. The thick, syrupy substance pulsing with inner light, saturated with magic and purpose. 

Slowly, the leaves were presented to his lips, an invitation and an offer more than a demand, and yet the being offering it to him felt  _ expectant.  _

Though, perhaps expectant was not quite the word. 

The act seemed weighted, ritualistic, and yet Neville could feel that the being was more tentatively hopeful than demanding. 

He could recognize the sensation. There had been many magical plants that had been revered through the ages, beings that had learned to live in symbiosis with humanity, depending on their offerings and in turn protecting and nourishing them. And many, many times these days, those communities had forgotten their gods, had turned away from their worshipful relations and left the magical being to fend for itself, and wither away from the lack of the care it had grown dependent upon. 

Of course, it was not always the locals' fault. Neville knew enough to be aware of his own country’s dark past and its crusade to erase any culture differing from its own. The stories were as tragic as despicable, but the fact remained that said erasure had many reaching consequences, and the magical side of it was quite often overlooked. 

Just as for this being. 

Clearly there was something that they needed from him. And for them to be able to obtain it, he needed to ingest this brew. And he had no intention of disappointing them. 

Neville tilted his head forward, placing his lips upon the leaf’s rim, tasting the sticky sweetness of the magical substance. It felt pleasant, flavorful and fruity, with the discreet sting that denoted fermentation, the smell heady with natural alcohol. 

But he was not a lightweight anymore. 

He started sipping, the honeyed drink flowing down his throat with the sweet burn of liquor, intoxicating in sweetness and spirits both. He closed his eyes. 

He welcomed the being’s offering, and offered his trust in return. 

The substance warmed a path down his throat, pooling in his belly, radiating heat and a strange sort of  _ looseness,  _ yet Neville’s mind remained clear. 

His magic sparked, shivering around him before strangely  _ unspooling,  _ spreading from his core and wrapping itself around the plant’s own aura, tangling amongst branches and vines, winding through them, almost purring under the strength of the massive amount of magical energy pulsing from every pore of the being’s body. 

Never had he felt as conscious of a magical presence as he did just then. Never had he felt that intense desire to bare his throat and simply give in to whatever the being wanted. 

Of course he’d wanted to help, he’d always wanted to help any plant he came across. He’d always had something of  _ an affinity _ for the vegetal world, after all. He’d always  _ sensed _ something from them. Their moods, mostly, their needs sometimes. The more familiar he was with a particular genus, or with an individual that he’d worked with personally. 

Of course his own plants, those that he grew himself from sproutlings were always closer to him than any other. There was something almost  _ magical _ to their bond. 

But not even those had felt like this, so intense, so  _ all-consuming.  _

He gulped in a breath, only noticing just then the way he’d started to get light-headed. He felt flushed, almost too hot, too  _ aware _ of the vines against his skin, the silky soft feel of new shoot’s bark, and the rougher texture of older, wiser limbs. 

When had his robes gone? 

The vines were winding around him, caressing, teasing, and he trembled in their grasp. He’d never felt quite so vulnerable before, not even when he’d almost gotten choked to death by a Devil Snare, in his early days. 

And yet he felt safe. 

The grasp around him felt reverent, the touches curious and eager, but still very careful, soft enough to never hurt him, and yet still insistent, still  _ pushing.  _ They were almost possessive in their hold, teasingly brushing against every part of him, playfully turning him into a confused and writhing mess. 

Neville gasped, body jerking and shivering, entirely too responsive to the being’s touch, entirely too willing, too eager himself to submit to its biding. 

He too,  _ wanted.  _

Even as he had no idea what it was that they could possibly want. 

But his veins were filled with fire and need, and the vine’s touches felt so good, the harsh rasp against his sensitive nipples, the gentle slide over the soft skin of his inner arm, the contrast both delightful and intoxicating. 

The sheer strength of the limbs winding around his legs sent a thrill deep inside his belly, adrenaline mixing with trust, need and a yearning so deep he could hardly comprehend it. 

The way they bit into his flesh with enough control to do him no harm had him keen, sparks of heat running down his spine, his belly clenching with want, his hips jerking up in a fruitless search for pressure, friction,  _ relief of any sort.  _

He had not even noticed that his cock had gotten so hard. 

He wondered if that was what the being was seeking, if it somehow needed some human seed to sustain it, or perhaps that of a magical, since his magic’s reaction seemed to indicate that the being was used to ...dealing with magical humans. 

But then the thought was gone as soon as it had come, the sticky softness of a velvety leaf covered in glowing honey coming into contact with his desperate cock, winding around his member and squeezing him blissfully. 

It was almost enough to distract him from the feeling of curious tendrils teasing downward, winding around the base of his cock and exploring his sticky balls, then even lower, down between his thighs and then to the small furled hole of his ass. 

_ Almost.  _

Neville flinched away, more from surprise than anything else. 

The being froze. An expectant stillness charged the air between them, tendrils poised to either continue on their path or let him descend back to land, and leave the being unfulfilled once again. 

There was a furious blush heating Neville’s cheeks at the thought of what was clearly being expected there. Because, while those tiny tendrils had been careful and tentative, they had certainly seemed to have more purpose to their trek than any other vine had so far. 

And that meant that they were clearly not only after his semen, if they needed it at all if for no reason other than to offer their human partner a pleasurable experience in return for whatever it was they seeked in return. 

Not for the first time, Neville cursed the language barrier between vegetal and mammal, though it was admittedly a first that the query would be more about what was about to happen to  _ him  _ instead of what would be helpful for  _ them.  _

But then. They had  _ stopped.  _

Neville had shown discomfort and the being had paused in its advances, was still waiting for him to get his bearings and either offer his consent or choose to desist. 

And somehow, it was enough to let Neville relax, to let him loosen up and breathe out, leaning back into the vegetal embrace. 

Whatever they needed from him, they would not hurt him. They had shown their carefulness and knowledge of human frailty, they had proven their respect of his boundaries, their care for his emotional wellbeing and their willingness to stop. 

He was safe. And somehow, strangely,  _ valued.  _

The sense of empathy that always let him understand the vegetation around him felt saturated with overwhelming desire, with an inhuman  _ hunger _ that made his body thrum with an echoing need, and bleeding through that was an eldritch sort of affection, a boundless gratefulness that made him tremble. 

And so, Neville started responding to the careful touches once more, leaning into the caresses as soon as they tentatively restarted, moaning in unashamed bliss as the sleeve around his cock squeezed and stroked his now achingly hard member. 

And when the questing tendrils reached his hole once again, careful touches light enough to barely be felt, somehow hesitating to do any further, Neville swallowed down his own apprehension and inexperience and arched into it.

What would experience with a human lover give, anyway, when the anatomy of his current partner was so very different?

Bolstered with the show of willingness, the vines twinned around him squeezed and massaged his delicate flesh caressing every inch of him with delighted adoration, the many limbs overwhelming with their ever changing textures, downy soft and silky smooth, raspy and biting, short trailing lines of fire scraping along his ribs only heightening Neville’s now desperate arousal. 

And the more he let himself succumb to the sensations, the more he gave himself with abandon, the more he felt that approving caress against his magic, the sheer pride in him, pleasure at his submission, at his willingness, his bravery. Gentle leaves petted his hair, the praise nonverbal and yet still powerfully felt enough to send his whole frame shaking apart. 

Bliss tore through him as his orgasm hit, the sheer joy and gratification of being so cared for, so valued and cherished tipping him over the edge of orgasm. 

Through it all, the warm and wet sleeve around his cock sucked him down, squeezing every last drop of seed from him until he was entirely spent. 

Neville slumped in the being’s gentle hold, shivering with aftershocks and the remaining sparks of rapture pulsing through his veins. 

The vines kept caressing him, almost  _ petting him,  _ reassuring, comforting. Another cup was presented before his lips, full of a similar liquid from the previous one. Neville gulped it down, docile and unresisting, basking in the tender approval that crashed over his senses in waves. 

He craved it. He always had, for all that no one had been willing to offer it, that unconditional support, that sheer delight and pride in his actions, the certainty that whatever he was doing was  _ right,  _ was appreciated and recognized. 

And so Neville drank, even knowing that whatever the ritual entailed it was far from over, knowing that it would only ask more and more from him. 

Knowing that what had happened here could never leave this place. Yet one more secret to keep. Yet another thing that would make Neville a strange and unapproachable man. 

He cared not. 

And the more he drank, the less he cared. His magic was shivering, undulating in truly indecipherable ways, writhing and  _ dancing _ around the plant’s own power, its shape was twisting , his own core felt looser, more fluid, as though it was no longer simply confined to the center-heart of his chest but had instead started pulsing through his entire belly, filling his lungs and stomach, pulsing through his cock. 

He gasped out, the change not quite jarring but still unexpected after living his entire life without truly being able to even  _ sense _ his own magic, but it was not unpleasant. Far from it. 

In fact, it was quite the opposite. 

With the way the honeyed brew had warmed its way through him, the way his magic pulsed in time with his heart, the intoxicating caresses of the many vines curled around him, his pliant body did not resist when arousal started to stir in his belly once more. His still sensitive cock was soothed by the sticky fluid coating the sleeve even as it started a slow, relentless pumping, and it was not long before he could feel it respond, slowly, gradually but inexorably it started to harden once more. 

The curious tendril teasing his hole gently poking slightly deeper before retreating, coated with the same sticky slippery honey as it sank deeper and deeper. 

Neville whined, hips humping the air as he felt the strange and foreign intrusion, the burning stretch that felt entirely  _ too good,  _ the cool slipperiness a balm to his feverish body. 

He was breathing hard, moaning, exhausted and yet still craving for more. His hair had come loose from the low ponytail he usually kept and it was sticking to his sweaty face. The leaves above him shone like stained glass windows, golden greens framed by warm purples and oranges, the network of branches healthy and magnificent. 

He felt so good. 

He could not stop trembling, but he did not want it to stop, never wanted it to stop. 

The vine inside him curled, uncaring that it was barging into previously unexplored territory, twisting and pumping inside him in ways that were excessively pleasurable. 

He choked, breath catching as his hole clenched around the wet limb that was plundering him. His back arched, eyes clenched shut as bolts of pleasure coursed down his spine, obscene sounds falling from his lips amongst breathless gasps. 

He did not know what the vine had done, what it had touched, but as it retreated, he was left weak and shivering, panting harsly, skin sizzling with need even though his cock had yet to fully harden once more. 

The contentment and approval coming from the being was overwhelming, intoxicating. They praised him and soothed him, petting him gently, carefully swiping his hair from his face and wiping the sweat from his brow.

He groaned, arching as the vine slipped out of him, sluicing out slowly even as his ass was left drenched in sticky, viscous fluid, his buttocks entirely coated with the thick substance, his innards sloshing with it as he clenched over the sudden emptiness. 

Somehow, being empty felt just as strange as being breached had. 

He whined in protest, squirming, humping, his hole clenching against nothingness and wading through the viscous substance. 

The vines tightened around him, maneuvering his unresisting body around until his ass was raised up in the air, his upper body braced against a bed of mossy vines, legs spread wide open and leaving his privates open and on display. 

Neville groaned in mortification at the thought, seeing his hard cock bobbing before him and the curling leaves twisted around it was strangely arousing, as was the intricate netting of lianas and and vines curling around his body, the way tendrils and soft downy leaves were caressing his bare flesk, the older branches supporting him. 

And then, a large flower descended from the canopy, unfurling the delicate, purple petals of its corolla as it opened wide before him, revealing its heart. 

The flower in itself looked like a sunburst, golden splashes of color seeping from the center part toward the edges of the darker petals, drawing the eyes toward the frankly intimidatingly large and ironically phallic shape of its pistil. 

Neville was quite familiar with the general anatomy of a flower, after all, he knew the flared tip of the pistil was called the stigma, that its distinctly flared base contained its ovules, and that the male organs of the flower were the pollen coated spheres— _ anthers— _ surrounding it, and that somehow, the being holding him had presented his bottom right up to it as though for ease of penetration. 

Though, at this point, Neville did not think there was much more that could possibly surprise him any longer about the being currently holding him in their grasp. 

They caressed his brow soothingly, gentling him even as his eyes remained glued on the imposing flower before him. It was large enough for its delicate petals to be brushing against both his knees, even spread as wide as they could go. Each anther was as big as a walnut, and the stigma was an inch larger than even that, though underneath the tip, Neville supposed that the pistil itself might not be overmuch larger than a normal dick, if a fair bit longer. Of course, that was discounting the much larger base where the ovary was situated, but really, what were the chances that it would even  _ fit _ inside of him, let alone that the being would even try? 

He gulped. 

Yet another leaf pearling with honeyed elixir was presented to him, it’s consistency even thicker and sweeter than the previous ones, and Neville gratefully suckled it, feeling himself relax and his magic shiver eagerly under his skin. His body was reacting to the ritual, to the substance coating inside him, to the magic cradling his own. He did not yet know how, and it did not feel malicious, but suddenly, the massive shape of the flower no longer seemed intimidating or ominous, it no longer stirred fear or worry inside his belly. Instead, it was only  _ magnificent,  _ striking, and so very perfect. 

And deeply,  _ deeply arousing.  _

Which he quite realized would not be his usual reaction when confronted with a plant of any kind, but then again, the situation was hardly a usual one. 

For one, no plants he’d previously met had ever wanted to impale him with their genitalia before. 

For another, he’d never  _ drunk  _ anything offered to him by a plant before. 

And never had his magic acted in such a mystifying way, not in his entire life. 

He could not tear his eyes from the golden anthers, the way the unfurled, twisting together and lifting high above the tip of the pistil, the filaments holding them twining together and coming inexorably closer to him. 

Neville’s hole twitched with eagerness, his breath shuddering from him as the vines tugged his legs even further apart. The deep seated burn of his muscles stretching made him groan, rocking forward into the stretch, hips humping slowly into the air as eagerness thrummed through his body. 

He could feel the first stamen reaching his hole, gently gliding over his slick ass, rolling over his perineum, and probably spreading pollen everywhere, before settling over his eager rim and  _ bearing down.  _

Neville groaned, a guttural,  _ raw  _ cry at the intrusion, at how absurdly bigger it was compared to the vine, at the way his rim just stretched, wider and wider around the anther, a searing burn that somehow pulsed through his cock, his blood sizzling with arousal, pulse drumming in his ears. 

And then it popped inside him, viscous honey spurting from his hole as the small sphere of pollen made its way inside of him thick and deep enough for Neville to already feel stuffed full. 

He wheezed, heart drumming in his ears, shaking all over even as his mind struggled to understand what had just happened, what his body was telling him. 

His ass was pulsing with heat, a delicious burn stretching his insides, his rim clenching hard against the filament that was still pushing the stamen deeper inside him, slowly, inexorably. Downy leaves wiped away his tears, soothing his brow, guiding his breath until he stopped feeling so lightheaded, until the world stopped shattering around him. He gulped in more desperate breaths, trembling exhales slowly steadying as he adjusted to the intrusion, to the width of the stamen inside of him the stretch, the  _ burn  _ of it all. 

It was only the beginning, he knew, and yet with how utterly ruined he already felt, how would he possibly survive what more was to come? 

He sucked in a deep gulping breath as the stamen pushed down deeper inside him, sending trailing fiery heat on its path. Pleasure started sparking again, a low thrum that pooled in his belly, a twisted hunger that sent heat to his cheeks as he heard the wet sounds echoing obscenely around them as the plant kept pushing into him through the viscous honey lubricating him, sending globs of stickiness spurting from his hole and coating his lower regions. 

But, already, there was another bulbous anther pressing against his hole, eagerly rolling through the slimy secretions and bearing down against his loosened rim, pressing inexorably deeper, harder, until his rim gave way once more, widening more and more, impossibly, until it came through once more. 

He laid there trembling in the aftermath, his rim twitching against the filaments linked to the two anthers inside him, sweating and panting as though he had run all the way through the forbidden forest while being pursued by wild acromantulas. 

Though,  _ perhaps _ it had gone easier than the first. Perhaps his rim had opened more easily, perhaps it had burned less, stretched less, only followed the previously opened and loosened path. 

Perhaps the next one would be even easier. 

A thin tendril tickled at his cock, winding around it and squeezing gently. Neville gasped, a bolt of pleasure coursing through him at the delicate tease, pleasant shivers running through his body. 

He was hard. 

He did not know when it had happened, when his cock had started aching and pulsing with need, when the arousal had overcome his bodily need for rest. 

The pulsing heat in his ass was certainly excuse enough for his distraction. 

But now that he’d become aware of it, he couldn’t think of anything else besides the throbbing need that swelled his cock, those teasing touches, so very soft around his still slick member, and his desperate yearning for something more, more touches, more pressure, more speed. More  _ everything.  _

The third anther pushed against his rim, slowly squeezing its way in as his rim stretched wide once more, sending bolts of heat down his spine, spikes of torturous pleasure pulsing through his cock, the heat pulsing through his belly sizzling through his veins. 

He was panting, loud,  _ lewd _ noises falling from his lips like prayers, voice pleading and desperate and yet still saturated that terrible brand of searing pleasure. 

It had  _ definitely _ popped in easier than the first one. 

But would that be enough?

His poor rim was barely winking closed around the thick shape of the third stamen, and Neville already found himself  _ too full.  _ He was stuffed up to the brim, his ass stretched to the limit, his breath choked on the feeling of something so very big being shoved so deep inside him. 

There were two more of those. 

He choked, a strange sort of panic gripping him at the thought. Worry clouded his mind and squeezed his lungs, of being inadequate, of  _ failing, _ of all ridiculous fears to have, of not being worthy. 

Neville had never been worthy enough in the eyes of the people in his life, not even when he’d proven his usefulness time and again. 

But he’d never had to feel that way toward plants. 

The overwhelming magical presence of the being enfolded him, warm and reassuring, an all-encompassing pressure crushing him on all sides with the weight of their pleasure and satisfaction, with their appreciation for him, their affection. The rush of feelings drowned him in bliss for a moment, reassurances and patience and praise clutching him in their immaterial hold, twisting through his magic and forcing it to submit to their overpowering trust and faith in him. 

Neville gasped, emotions choking him even as he relaxed back into the being’s hold, bliss and vulnerability blurring even as he gave himself away with abandon, trust pouring from him as he laid back. He felt almost drunk on endorphins, on the fragility of this new feeling, being trusted and believed in, being wanted,  _ needed.  _

The fourth stamen slipped in almost on its own, his hole opening easily,  _ greedily _ for its thick girth. Neville let his body bow with it, hips grinding slowly through the air, arousal winding tighter and tighter in his groin. 

They were pressing into something inside him, something deep that felt incredibly good. It was pulsing with each brush from the bulbous anthers, sending intoxicating waves of pleasure sparking through him, one flood after the other as Neville drifted, drowning in bliss even as his need became slowly more pressing, a burning desperation to finally be allowed to come. And yet, everything felt strangely muted by the contentment that permeated his mind, the unshakeable peace that had taken over him. 

He was breathing. 

The fifth and last stamen pushed inside him, the pleasant ache of the stretch as his rim opened wide to swallow it in and then the delicious fullness that choked him up for half a breath, the blissful pressure against that sizzling spot deep inside him, the clenching in his belly as his cock pulsed with his impending arousal, toes curling and hips grinding up as he panted. 

A slick coated leaf curled around his hard cock gently furling over his aching flesh. 

Neville groaned, quiet and content, his breaths even and deep. 

It squeezed, quick and hard, pumping him roughly, twisting and rubbing around him, forcefully milking his cock from all it had to give. 

Neville cried out as his orgasm shattered through his calm, his back arched, every muscle clenching tight as it crashed over him like a hurricane, devastating in its fury. 

Something broke inside him, his magic rippling with agitation as it tangled into the being’s aura. His hole  _ ached,  _ dozens of tiny impacts against his inner walls sent rippling heat and sparkling bolts of pleasure through him, making him feel as though he was breaking apart, sizzling and fizzling inside him. 

Neville gasped, writhing against his bonds, jerking with each bubbling impact, crying out as he clenched down on the anthers inside him and they simply seemed to  _ pop open,  _ sending more and more tiny beads of pollen rickochetting against his oversensitive walls _. _

He whined, hips stuttering as the torment seemed unending, the stamen detonating one after the other and tormenting him with more pleasure, more  _ terrible bliss,  _ even as his overwrought body protested the continued stimulation. And with each sizzling bolt of heat, he clenched down harder and made yet more anthers burst inside him, yet more pollen balls rub against his too responsive walls, yet more pleasure pulse under his feverish skin. 

He was trembling again, breaths choked with sobs, legs jerking as he tried desperately to escape the blissful torment that was happening inside him, begging for it to stop and yet, impossibly, still craving  _ more.  _

After a small eternity, the unending torment seemed to slowly come to a stop, the bubbling gentling into a slow buzz, his ass clenching harder against what almost felt like emptiness. 

Neville sobbed out in a confusing blend of relief and disappointment. 

His cock was hard again. 

He did not know how long it had been, couldn’t quite think clearly any longer. 

He was so very wrung out, laying limply in the vine’s unyielding grasp, docilely suckling more honeyed juice. 

He felt so empty, so  _ bereft,  _ though he understood the pollen had dissolved into the thick liquid that was still sloshing inside him, and the anthers had been emptied out from their seeds, his confused mind still wanted to feel  _ full _ again, and his greedy hole kept clenching winking close against the useless filaments still connected to the emptied pods inside him. 

Slowly, they dragged those pods out of him, their limp, deflated shape slipping easily out even though Neville clenched down against their withdrawal. One after the other, they slithered out of him, slickly rubbing one last time against his tender rim before falling away, their task fulfilled already.

Somehow, Neville knew that it was not nearly the case for him yet. 

The soft skin of purple petals caressed the delicate skin of his inner thighs, sending a delicious shiver wracking through his for. His cock jerked on his belly. 

He had, somehow, guessed what would happen, though he was rather dubious that it would be in any way humanly possible. 

The flower’s pistil was  _ big.  _

Neville whined, eagerness and apprehension curling through his belly as it lowered toward him, its flared tip pointing directly at his furled hole. The stigma. 

It was much larger than the stamens had been, plants’ male genitalia was always smaller in size than the female parts, and it also seemed much more rigid. 

But the being’s hold was gentle and confident, it’s trailing tendrils softly encouraging as they coaxed him to relax, to soften his clenched rim and yield before the imposing invader, its massive stamen poised just at his entrance. 

Neville gasped as it started pushing downward, inexorably bearing down against his too small hole, it’s descent relentless even as his tight rim struggled to accommodate its width, the stretch merciless against his overwrought flesh. 

He’d been so loosened already, forced open again and again around the thickness of the anthers, his rim pulled taut and forced to relax, to yield over and over until it had learned to submit. 

It still wouldn’t be enough, he was too tight, much too tight to ever be able to fit this enormous thing, the stigma alone would never even be able to pass through his hole, the long rod of the style would certainly be a struggle as well. 

He was quite glad that only the stigma needed to come into contact with the pollen in order for the eggs to be fertilized. The ovary at the bottom of the pistil was always the biggest part of any flower, and this one certainly proved to be impressive in that regard. 

Neville groaned, sobbing as he felt his hole stretch ever wider, the flower driving down against him, an implacable force mercilessly pushing forward, even as it shoved his entire body against the vines holding him. It still kept going, merciless, unstoppable, unyielding even against the physical limits of his own body. Until one of them gave in, Neville sobbing thorough his breaths, aching with a desperate blend of arousal and agony as his hole finally, ineluctably  _ gave.  _

He howled as the stigma rammed it’s way in, greedily sinking deep now that his hole’s resistance had buckled under its assault, his rim snapping taut around the style’s rod still spearing through him, squeezing wetly against the smooth shaft. 

His body jerked weakly against the vine’s hold, confused, aroused, shattered. 

He writhed, trembling, sweating all over, he was feverish, overwrought, his cock was already hard again and it did not make any biological sense, that was not how his body worked, not how  _ humans _ worked. 

It was probably more for his own comfort than anything else, to have arousal hazing his mind and turning the sizzling burn of each stretch of his hole into a new form of bliss, each nervous moment of apprehension into a happy thrill, each moment of insecurity into an immeasurable yearning. 

That was how the being had adapted its actions to accommodate human needs and limitations, and an offering in exchange to the service he was offering them. 

And yet, now that he found himself throbbing with arousal once more, he wasn’t certain if more pleasure was not a form of torture in itself. 

He was being consumed, it was much too big, too  _ wide,  _ too  _ deep _ already. The stretch was reaching the deepest places inside him and he could not breathe, there was no respite, no air, nothing but the searing heat in his hole, the stigma plowing through his insides, the too thick shaft spearing him open. 

Thick viscous lubricant was spilling from his hole, sizzling still with tiny pollen beads as the pistil kept shoving int way in, deeper and deeper and Neville didn’t know when it would ever  _ stop.  _

And then it started pulling back, retreating from him, the thick head scouring his oversensitive walls as it slid backward, lewd suction sounds echoing in the near silent canopy as his rim clenched around the slick shaft. 

He whined at the pull, the taut muscle strumming with yet more pleasure at the tease, at the cold wetness of the gushing flood of slick rolling over his overheated flesh as the stigma raked it out of him, at the pulsing heat of the spot deep inside him being so deliciously abused. 

And then it rammed back in. 

Neville cried out at he lurched back, the vines pulling his legs open even wider as the pistil shoved itself even deeper inside him, a powerful thrust that seared him open, choking him with how deep it had reached, how full he felt. 

Too much, it was all so very too much. 

He could hardly think anymore, could hardly even hold on, his body limp and yielding as the pistil started plowing him, retreating slowly only to plunge back in, forceful, ruthless,  _ implacable.  _

He could only lay there and take it, let himself be used and scoured open, feel his body react and jolt and arch as each thrust sent more bolts of excruciating bliss down his aching cock, each forceful jab set his body aflame with need and desire and a deep ache just on the edge of painful and delicious. 

He could hardly make sense of anything any longer, the sharp contrast of the tickling softness of petals against his thighs and the hard slickness of the rod, the burning stretch and the forceful battering, it all blurred together into a mess of sensation, stealing his breath and drowning him into arousal. 

Then, everything stopped. 

Neville whined in protest, gasping, trembling in his bonds as he caught his breath, trying to make sense of what had happened, what had made it stop. 

He was still hard, still aching and needy, and yet the respite was still welcome as much as it was jarring. 

He could feel the place where the style’s shaft started to thicken against his rim. The pistil had buried itself deep enough into him for the very tip of the ovary to have reached his hole. 

That was it, then. The being would stop there. Neville’s duty was now done, after all, the stigma had certainly reaped enough pollen by now to fertilize its eggs. 

This was how it would end. With the flower having stopped moving, it’s soft petals downy against his thighs, and the pistil’s shaft buried so deeply inside him, Neville suspected magic was involved. 

With syrupy pollen still seeping from his hole and mingling with his sweat, and his cock still hard and aching from the most intoxicating pounding he’d ever gotten in his life before. 

Not that he had much experience in that department, but Neville rather suspected that the being had just ruined him for the whole of humanity.

And then the vines started lifting him up, tilting his torso up as they make him tip forward until he was seated directly on top of the flower. 

Neville blinked, uncomprehending, even as he felt the vines’ hold loosen around him, letting him weight slowly sink. 

His legs were still open, stretched wide, his arms held comfortably to the side, but his trunk’s weight was now completely unsupported as he was hovering over the flower still impaling him. 

He sank lower. 

He gasped, jerking, struggling as he felt his rim slowly widen around the top of the pistil’s ovary, as he felt the stigma sink even deeper into him, as he slowly realized that,  _ no, this was not the end, _ that somehow, impossibly, the being holding him intended to see this take everything in, to fit that enormous bulb  _ inside him.  _

The being stayed still, simply petting him gently as he exerted himself futilely, his tired limbs weak against their powerful hold, and even  _ that _ was enough to stir at his traitorous cock. 

Slowly, his useless struggles abated, exhaustion winning out, along with the gentle echoes of faith and praise coming from the being. 

He let himself sink, the slide down slow and punishing. Slickness dripped down, even as his rim yielded more and more, the stretch awakening a pleasant ache in his tired rim, the stigma still pushing further inside with each inch gained. 

Neville was gasping, sweating, barely holding himself up through the strength of his arms, but he was exhausted, overwrought, and some part of him hungered for that last bit of heat, that promised fullness, the sense of completion and accomplishment he would feel by taking it all in, by proving the being right about him, making its pride and faith in him  _ justified.  _

He wanted to be  _ good. _

He groaned as it sank just a bit deeper, and then deeper still. 

He  _ ached,  _ with need, with arousal, with the stretch that was already  _ too much,  _ and yet would get worse still before it got all the way in. 

His breath caught on a sob, tremors shaking through him even as he felt his hole widen even more, dick throbbing with arousal, orgasm at once too close and yet too far, nothing but a confusing mess of sensation where pain equaled pleasure and pleasure was only all the more torturous for the heights it reached. 

A vine curled around his aching erection, pumping him in time with his labored breaths, twisting around the head and squeezing him until his orgasm erupted from him, release crashing through his like the knight bus impacting a cliffside and leaving him flattened and limp in the aftermath. 

The vines were almost entirely holding him up, his body shivering with the aftershocks of bliss. He felt loose and easy, high on endorphins and boneless as he let himself sink even deeper and deeper onto the ovary. 

He giggled helplessly as his rim opened easily for the rest of the way until it reached the place with the largest circumference, slowly, wetly rolling around it. 

And once the largest part was in, his rim snapped close, swallowing greedily the remaining half of the bulbous base of the pistil until it fit neatly inside him. 

Neville went limp, breaths harsh and trembling as the vines caught him neatly, caressing him, petting and soothing him down. The being was thrilled and happy, proud and so very pleased with him, he could feel its praise as though the words were whispered directly into his soul, admiration for his bravery and determination, satisfaction and gratification for his responsiveness, a low croon of affection and pleasure that lulled him into a doze. 

His body felt terribly sore, achy, stretched to its very limits and beyond. 

He was stuffed full, much beyond what he’d ever believed possible to fit. He felt so very filled, so tight he could barely breathe, hardly even dared to move. 

But the being was still cooing at him with adoration, still stroking even inch of him with disbelieving awe that he couldn’t help but feel pleased in turn. He had made them proud, he had fulfilled their expectations; had been  _ good,  _ brave and determined, and he had _ done well.  _

And he’d enjoyed himself thoroughly in the process. 

A new cup was presented to his parched lips, filled with the same honeyed liquid that he’d grown familiar with, and he greedily drank his fill, closing his eyes in bliss as he felt it soothe his parched throat. 

He felt warm, and safe, and cared for. 

He was so very exhausted, his limbs leaden, belly heavy with its precious cargo, mind blurry with exhaustion. 

Slowly, his lids fell closed, even as he felt the vines carry him away, a few downy leaves caressing his belly adoringly. 

*

When he woke, he was in a dark space, warm and pulsing with life, cradled in a netting of vines. They manipulated his limp body carefully, helping him sit and drink another cupful of honeyed elixir before exhaustion swept over him once more and let him fall under. 

The next time he woke, he was at least coherent enough to recognize the heart of a tree trunk, the  _ being’s _ trunk, before he fell to slumber after drinking his fill. 

The circle repeated again, his limbs leaden and tired, soreness deep seated in his flesh, magic pulsing weakly in his belly. His ass was still sore, and his belly had rounded with what Neville belatedly realized would be plant seedlings.

Exhaustion overcame him before he decided how he felt about the fact that he’d apparently been impregnated by a tree. 

Time became a blur, the new life growing inside him drinking in his magic and feeding from his energy, even as the magically potent liquid regularly forced upon him replenished him. 

Often, Neville woke to tender caresses upon his round belly that made him purr with contentment. Sometimes to playful testing against his cock, or gentle fondling on his asscheeks, or his balls that he leaned into, only to be brought to a slow lazy orgasm by suckling vines and curious tendrils. 

It was a hazy time of bliss and sweetness and exhaustion. Days bled together, syrupy drinks and slow orgasms, sore limbs and lethargic magic, and the constant stream of gentle adoration being poured into him, the raw gratitude for what he’d dome, the admiration, praise,  _ care _ that was shown to him left him limply sated in this nest, gently compliant and proud even as his belly kept swelling, rounding more and more with the being’s future offsprings. 

And then they slipped from him, one by one until he was left empty and loose, exhausted once more, flesh sore and well used. 

Recovery was quick, once he no longer had to feed greedy sproutlings, with a few cups of sweet honey-brew, he had recovered enough to think, to move, to consider all that had happened. 

But as he watched the tiny shoots slowly learning to grow and make roots, he found that there was not much he needed to consider at all. 

He had always known that he had more kinship with the vegetal world than the human one. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you thought!  
> I hope you enjoyed :3


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